


Mi Amore

by RedStarFiction



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-20 01:38:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9469679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedStarFiction/pseuds/RedStarFiction
Summary: A wee fic surrounding Jamie at Leoch trying to come to terms with his feelings for the Sassenach … *a bit fluffy but based around book Jamie, a much more tortured soul than show Jamie - because, well, angst is where I dwell most. *grins* Thank you for reading guys xxx





	1. Chapter 1

Jamie looked over his shoulder and smiled to himself at the empty wood, there had been a few lads following him for the last couple of miles but they had finally dropped off. He didn’t think they meant him any real harm but he was tired and irritable and knew better than to get into a fight in his first week back at Leoch – it would cause more aggravation than it was worth.

His father had often counselled him that where possible it was always better to turn the other cheek and with his arm still sore and the knife wound healing, Jamie felt it was as good a time as any to heed his advice.

Besides, even if they meant to be friendly, Jamie was in no mood for company. He was in a turmoil he had not expected to be in and needed time alone to think about what it was he meant to do about it. Running a hand through his hair and grimacing at the short feel of it, still strange after a lifetime of wearing it long, he stalked over to the stream he had been heading for and, after one final check that he was alone, squinted over the edge of the back at the watery reflection of his face.

Jamie had long ago relinquished his claim on the vanity which is the right of all young people. He knew he was fair in appearance and that blue eyes and a charming smile had their advantages, but he also knew that the scars on his back would forever mark him as a felon and that no matter how sweetly he smiled, he had only to remove his shirt and the world would know his humiliation.

When the flogging had finished he had been too far gone to form coherent thought and when he was finally able to think again, the pain made him wish for oblivion and he had not spared a thought to what it might look like. Then, as he healed, his heart lay burdened with the death of his father and the shame of his sister’s acquiescence to that beast, Randall and the thick, crusted lines of scabbing on his back were trivial matters in comparison. But he minded the marks now and guarded their secret from strangers with a fastidiousness that he had not known he possessed.

Jamie stripped off and stepped into the water, squeaking as the cold lapped at his thighs and chilled his feet. Without hesitation he dropped to a squat, submerging himself to the throat and hissing through his teeth until he began to adjust to the temperature.

He washed quickly but thoroughly with the soap he had taken from Mrs Fitz and was about to get out when another urge took him. Using the soft earth of the river bank to push outwards with his foot, he floated in the water on his back, gently moving his arms and legs to keep from drifting down stream. Now that he was less aware of its chill, the water felt glorious on his skin and as he peered up at the blue sky through gently lowered lashes, Jamie felt the tension begin to leave his body. If he concentrated hard, he found that he could carefully nudge aside the fears that plagued his waking moments and that he could trick himself into believing that he had no greater concern than tracking the progress of the lazy clouds above.

It felt like years since he had last been able to switch off his cognizance and linger in vacancy. As his mind cleared images floated through and despite his best efforts, he could not shake off one particular image that he had no business thinking of and the cause of his latest calamity. Amber eyes set above a haughty wee nose and a full lipped mouth that was capable of the sweetest smiles and the foulest curses; hair the colour of dark honey in one light and rich soil after a spring rain in another and ears that stuck out just the tiniest bit. 

Jamie had kissed a few women and flirted with the idea of courting one or two, but never seriously. He might one day marry a lass but he had found none that made him wish to hurry toward that future and the necessity of facing the heartache of his past to make a home.

Then Claire had come into his life, or maybe he had come into hers, either way they had come to know each other. She had mended his shoulder, patched up his wounds and she had called him many foul and unexpected names in the process. She had ridden with him, wrapped in his plaid like an angry cat brought in from the rain and gradually allowed herself to recline against his chest in exhaustion through the dark night on the road to Leoch and Jamie had allowed himself to feel a fondness for her. He liked that she swore like a sailor and that she sneered at the threats of retribution from the clansmen. She reminded him of his sister in that way. Sorrow stabbed between Jamie’s ribs and momentarily stole his breath and for a second he lost his balance on the water and floundered. He pushed the thought of Jenny away, righting himself on the bobbing surface.

When they had been accepted into the castle, bone tired and sore, he had found that his bed held no appeal to him. He wanted to be around Claire, to shield her from prying eyes and wagging tongues and to see the wee wisps of hair curl about her face in the riotous way of theirs as she spoke and the flash of defiance in those golden hawk eyes. He felt a responsibility for her, she had been thrust into his care on the ride and although she was wary of him, there was a fragile sort of trust between them.

Also they had more in common than she realised, they were both prisoners of the Mackenzie without the need for shackles as neither of them had anywhere else they could safely go. So he had sought her out and found her, still in the dirty shift she had been wearing in the woods, the light of the fire making her more beautiful than he knew any woman had the power to become. Jamie felt his chest swell at the memory, the wet hair rising out of the water allowing the air to pucker the skin over his ribs.

When she asked to see his shoulder he had wished for nothing more than the ground to swallow him whole, for if he could disappear he would never have to see the pity and revulsion in her eyes when she saw his ruined back, nor feel the air thrum around the hesitation of her sure fingers as she avoided touching him.

But she had insisted and the ground had not opened and so he had removed his shirt and sat, rigid and obedient, his eyes closed and fists lightly curled to avoid her seeing the trembling of his fingers as she moved behind him. The hitch in her breath had been slight and delicate, as if she had simply seen an acquaintance unexpectedly in the street, and then before he could say anything her fingers had descended upon him, as certain and warm as the summer sun. The tone of her voice let him know she was sorry for the marks, but she did not pity him and the fondness of the night before curled around Jamie’s heart, like a delicate vine of Bittersweet climbing a garden wall.

But it was as she wept in his arms that Jamie felt the small part of him that he could only presume was his soul pull toward her. He remembered the feel of her trembling against him, her breathing ragged and wet against his neck.

Jamie played the moment over again in his head and at the memory of her arms around his neck, her hair cascading down his own shoulder; his body stirred and Jamie found that he could no longer concentrate on the sky above him, his world had shrunk to the single point of Claire and there was nothing the clouds could do for that. He remembered the smell of her, rain and dirt and something slightly floral, and the feel of her arse on his lap, the thin shift doing nothing to disguise her curves. He thought of her lips, parted in a silent ‘O’ of embarrassment as she came back to herself and reclaimed her dignity. The touch of her fingertips on his hand …

Jamie stood up in the water, his face burning and heart still pounding. He waded back to the bank and washed again, using the soap more roughly this time, and climbed hastily out of the stream. As he dressed Claire came back to him. His ardour, the evidence of which was already lost in the water below, was his own affair and not something that he owed explanation for nor something that he ought to feel ashamed of. But the need to be around her and the constant thought of her … it was too much and it was foolish.

Sighing, he snatched up his sporran and was about to stuff the cake of soap inside it, but the thought of handing it back to Mrs Fitz after he had used it to wash away his … Jamie felt his face flame afresh and hurled the little bar into the stream without second thought. He would simply tell her he had dropped it. Better she think him careless than a fiend.

Walking back toward the castle, his hair drying in soft curls and waves, catching the occasional breeze and lifting around his head like a red halo, he considered his options. He could tell Claire that he had feelings for her, the worst she could do was reject him and then he would be able to accept her decision with grace and move on. Aye, that was a good plan. The image of himself, bowing low and kissing her hand before taking his leave of her, head held high resplendent in his heart break had a certain romantic quality to it that Jamie rather fancied, although at twenty-three he liked to think he had outgrown such things.

Then again, what if she accepted his advances? The thought struck him suddenly and he stopped dead in his tracks. What if she welcomed him and wished to build a life with him? His mouth went dry and he made a strange choking sound at the back of his throat as anxious bile rose from his gut.

He had nothing to offer her. He was the rightful Laird of Broch Tuarach and yet he could not possibly return home and claim his title – not with the price on his head and Claire surely deserved better than an outlaw. How would he feed her? What if they had a bairn? He had no way of providing for them and staying with the Mackenzie’s was dangerous enough now, if he were married with children they would be his weakness and the target for his uncles to use … No. No it was unthinkable and Jamie would not risk it, he would not risk his Sassenach. Better that he leave her alone, no matter what it cost him to do it, he had to leave Claire alone.

For a moment, in the shadow of the huge old trees all around him, Jamie felt his heart shy from the sorrow of his minds realisations but like all moments, it passed and as it did he braced himself and let out a steadying breath. Claire needed a friend and he could offer her that at least. Je Suis Prest.


	2. Breaking the fast.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The response to 'Mi Amore' was simply overwhelming and over on Tumblr it was the best received piece I have ever written, so I decided to follow it up today with a second instalment of what I am coming to think of as the 'lost moments of Outlander' that we may have seen had the book flowed from Jamie's perspective. Thank you so much to everyone who has take the time to read/kudos/comment on this work. It is time consuming but an utter labour of love and I am so thrilled to share it with you all.
> 
> xxx

“Nephew!”

Dougal beamed and threw an arm affectionately around Jamie’s shoulders as he dropped into the seat beside him. The hall was buzzing with the sound of a hundred men taking breakfast and sharing the gossip of the dawn. Dougal’s grip was too tight to be an entirely friendly embrace and Jamie glanced sideways at the older man with thinly veiled distaste.

“Good morning, Uncle. How does the day find ye?”

“Pissed as a gnat in a barrel o’ light ale.”

Dougal whispered and the fumes that rose from his mouth were enough to make Jamie’s own eyes water. Now that he looked closer he could see the whites of his uncles eyes were bloodshot and the skin of his cheeks visible beneath the beard was dry and reddened.

“A wee bit early for such merrymaking is it not?”

“HA!”

Dougal laughed, an awkward barking sound devoid of humour

“Ye sound like yer Mam. A wee scold and no mistake.”

“Careful uncle, I’m sure ye dinna wish to insult your sister’s memory.”

Jamie detached the arm from around him and twisted in his seat to face Dougal properly.

“No, I wouldna wish to do that. She was a good lass, kind and … well ye ken. Ye ken all of that.”

Dougal’s demeanour changed, softening at the thought of his sister and Jamie allowed his face to relax and his fists to lightly uncurl on the table top. He had been at Leoch just over a week and already he found himself clashing with his rambunctious uncle. The man was loud and ill-mannered and had an air of one who feels life has robbed them of their chance of greatness without ever stopping to consider that their destiny may lay within the realms of the ordinary. Dougal expected glory to fall into his lap with the same regularity of chamber maids hoping to curry a little favour.

As a lad Jamie had held him in particularly high esteem, he was the life of every party and seemed to thrum with an insistent vitality that his own father seemed to lack. Brian was more reserved and, to Jamie’s young mind, a little boring in comparison with uncle Dougal, who encouraged Jamie to drink and dance and generally act the fool. It had taken some time for Jamie to realise that Dougal and his friends were laughing at him, not with him.

However the man was family and he had the same pale grey eyes as his mother, and the same way of raising his chin before he laughed that his Mam had and Jamie loved him despite a distant rumble of awareness that told him the feeling was not mutual.

“Aye, Uncle. She was. Have ye been up the whole night then?”

Jamie grinned and nudged his uncle in the ribs, hoping to restore some of his buoyancy. 

“Eh? Och. Aye, I have! Awake and stood to attention too! Three charming lasses and a not so charming one but my God, she rode me like a …”

Dougal broke off and Jamie followed his gaze toward the entrance of the hall. Claire was stood in the doorway, smiling a little uncertainly and clearly wondering whether it was safe to try and make her way to the table laden with food, or better to suffer an empty belly for a while longer and come back when the men had moved out.

“Now there … mmmphmm. There is a woman I would sell my left nut to the devil for a go on.”

Dougal’s nostrils flared and Jamie felt this skin of his neck prickle with heat as his temper caught like a lit match.

“Dinna be sae crass, she is a woman alone amongst strangers. Have some courtesy.”

Jamie snapped but Dougal was too intent on Claire to notice the tone of his nephew’s voice. He ran the back of his hand across his mouth and stood, wobbling a little.

“I’ll go and see what it is she wants. Maybe a decent sized bit o’ meat to break her fast …”

Jamie stood up so fast it startled Dougal from his lewd innuendo and he looked at his nephew, eyes wide with shock. The air around them crackled with pent up aggression and Jamie tensed himself readying for a fight but Dougal held up a consoling hand.

“Easy laddie, what’s amiss?”

“Nothing is amiss but I wish ye to leave Mistress Beauchamp alone. Ye stink o’ drink and can barely walk straight. She doesna need ye slobbering over her in that state.”

Jamie kept his voice low but his hands trembled beside him with the urge to physically shove the old fool down on his stool and keep him there by force until Claire was safely away.

“Do ye wish her for yeself, Jamie lad? A pretty wee whetstone to sharpen a young blade?”

Dougal leant in close and winked at Jamie slowly. Jamie shook his head and felt exactly as he had at sixteen, out of his depth and gangly but there was more at stake than his young pride now, there was Claire. He could not tell Dougal of his feelings for her; it would only make the man more desperate to take her to his bed and whilst his uncle insisted that he did not hold with rape, Jamie was not entirely convinced that he always held himself to that particular standard.

“No,”

He took a firm grip on his uncle’s arm and sat him down with more force than strictly necessary.

“But I dinna wish ye to embarrass her or yeself either.”

He shoved his mostly untouched plate of food beneath Dougal’s nose.

“Eat this and sober yeself up. I will see that Mistress Beauchamp is alright.”

Jamie didn’t wait for Dougal to respond, nimbly ducking out from behind his seat and striding toward Claire.

“Mistress Beauchamp! I hope the day finds ye well? Ye seem a little lost.”

He smiled as he approached her and the obvious relief that lit her face at his presence made his breath stick in his throat like toffee.

“I am very well Mr McTavish, although I have no idea where one is supposed to queue for a serving of breakfast and as there are not actually any ladies present at the moment I am beginning to realise I am either too early or too late…”

The words tumbled out of her mouth in a jumble and Jamie found himself grinning like an idiot at her, enjoying the sound of her voice and the pretty pink blush that touched her cheeks as she realised she was rambling.

“Aye, the men are here to get their fill before a hunt and it’s no’ the best place for a lass to be on her own, many will have started on the whisky already, ken?”

He gave her a solemn blink in place of a wink. Claire ducked her head and as she did so a single curl tumbled from the carefully pinned tresses and settled in the sweet curve of her collar bone. Without thinking Jamie reached out and delicately moved it behind her ear, his large fingers lightly brushing the smooth skin of her neck.

Jamie felt the tips of his ears begin to burn but as acute as his embarrassment was, he could not tear his eyes from hers. She was looking at him with a mixture of confusion and something else … Jamie was normally very adept at reading people but the expression on Claire’s face was beyond his knowledge. A plate crashed to the ground and a shout went up from further down the hall and like a stone being cast into still water, the stillness between them broke. Claire blinked and looked away, a faint smile on her lips.

“I should head back to the kitchens then, try my luck there.”

Jamie nodded, swallowing a couple of times before answering

“Aye,”

His voice cracked and came out in the high-pitched tone of a wee lad and he hastily coughed to clear it. Claire’s lips trembled but she held in her laughter and Jamie thought he had never been more grateful to anyone in his life.

“It would be a wise idea.”

Claire bobbed her head and

“Thank you for your solace, Mr McTavish and please call me Claire.”

“The pleasure was entirely mine, Claire.”

Jamie said savouring the feel of her name on his lips, drawing himself up to his full height, narrowly resisting the urge to bow. Claire turned to go and Jamie watched the sway of her hips as discreetly as he could. Suddenly a thought occurred to him and before he could stop himself he cried

“Ye can call me Jamie!”

Claire turned around and this time she did laugh, but she also nodded and favoured him with a smile that was in no way unkind.

“I’ll call ye ‘pillock’ sit down ye bloody great fool!”

Murtagh had appeared from no-where and gripped Jamie’s elbow firmly steering him back towards his seat, scolding him all the way.

“Can I no’ leave ye alone for five minutes wi’out ye makin’ a scene? Eh? Ye have enough on ye plate wi’out being lumped in as being friendly wi’ the Sassenach.”

Dougal was sat staring at him, probing food from between his teeth with his tongue behind closed lips.

“Did ye spill ye load, laddie?”

He asked and exploded into riotous laughter before Jamie could respond. Murtagh nudged Jamie from behind, urging him to sit down and placed a full plate of food in front of him

“Eat. Then ye and I are goin’ out to the paddock to work on the horses.”

“What about …”

Jamie let his eyes slide toward Dougal. He knew he could not stand sentry over Claire but nor would he knowingly leave her here alone whilst his uncle was in such a mood and despite the compression of his Godfather’s lips, he knew that Murtagh understood.

“Will ye be hunting today Dougal?”

Murtagh asked and was met with a nod and a hearty explanation of Dougal’s aim to bring in a particular stag he had seen on the hills.

“Satisfied?”

Murtagh muttered gruffly when Dougal paused to refill his cup and Jamie nodded, eyes on his plate as Dougal resumed his speech. He didn’t mind suffering Murtagh’s displeasure at making a spectacle of himself, nor Dougal’s mirth at his expense. He didn’t care about any of it, his mind completely filled with the mysterious look that had so briefly crossed Claire’s face and what if anything such a look could mean.


	3. Love will make a fool of ye.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a continuation of the pieces I have done of ‘lost moments’ told from Jamie’s perspective - the first can be seen here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9469679/chapters/21423464. 
> 
> I have take a wee bit of liberty here as @juniblue suggested a wonderful title to me (not used here because I couldn’t make it fit) and I wanted to write one of her ideas out as a thank you for both the prompt and the great title (to be used for a future work!) Thanks for reading! H xxx

Jamie gently guided her through the halls and corridors that lead to her surgery and smiled to himself as she lurched and staggered, her step heavier than usual but no less certain. She was a feisty lass even when she was half-gone with drink. She seemed more likely to brawl than to weep and Jamie found himself more attracted to her than ever.

He guided her into the surgery and carefully eased the door shut behind them to avoid prying eyes. He knew that Claire was likely safe enough in here now, the men who might have followed her had she left the hall alone had seen her leave with Jamie and were unlikely to try their luck tonight. Dougal was another matter though and Jamie discreetly thumbed the lock across the door.

He saw Claire startle as she noticed his movement, her eyes hard and wary as she looked at him.

“I’m not about to do ye any harm lass, I merely dinna wish to get myself into a strammash wi’ any drunken clansman who might have a mind to chance his luck on ye.”

Jamie folded his arms and leant against the thick wood, willing his heart beat to calm and his palms to stop sweating. It was the truth, he would never seek to do Claire harm, but he had partaken in a fair amount of drink himself and now he was alone with her and she was looking at him like she might skelp his arse if he put a foot wrong and the fierceness of her gaze was turning his gut into a roiling mass of butterflies, all flapping their wings.

“I should think not! I’ve patched you up more than enough times already and I told you to rest … which you haven’t been.”

She was smiling at him again, that perfect wee cat smile that came out when she was relaxing, he hadn’t seen it often but he knew what it meant all the same. It was the smile she gave when she was just being herself and not trying to be whatever Collom or Dougal or any of the others wanted her to be.

“Aye ye have, and I am grateful.”

Jamie’s voice sounded strange even to his own ears and he wondered absently if it was perhaps affected by the sudden change in the direction of his blood flow.

“I have been resting as much as possible, though there is still work to be done in running an estate such as Leoch.”

“And plenty of other men that could do it too.”

Claire stepped around her table and pulled out a chair, gesturing to it with her free hand. Jamie had been so busy watching her face he had not noticed her produce a small flask from her pocket. The scent of Rhenish filled the small room and Jamie’s head swam.

“Come and sit down, I’ll have a look and make sure everything is healing as it should be.”

He crossed to the chair and sat obediently, hurriedly removing his waistcoat and draping it across his lap to hide the startlingly prominent bulge.

“If ye drink much more of that then it may be you who needs tending in the morning, Mistress.”

“Well then, you’ll have to come and tend me won’t you?”

Claire laughed but before Jamie could even think of anything to say she had frowned and turned her attention to the bottles and pots on the table, her fingers flitting from one to another without ever really touching them.

“Forgive me, Mr McTavish. I think you are right, I have taken too much drink.”

He desperately wanted to tell her that he didn’t mind, that she had only to say the word and he would be by her side to offer whatever assistance that she might need but his tongue felt clumsy and thick in his mouth.

“Please remove your shirt or … come back tomorrow, I have kept you from your party for far too long.”

The thought of being asked to leave the quiet sanctuary of her rooms shocked Jamie enough to loosen his tongue and squeeze a few words past the knot in his throat.

“If ye dinna mind looking now, I would appreciate it. It is rather sore.”

He shrugged off his shirt and sat ramrod straight but his eyes sought hers and found them glowing amber in the firelight.

“Dia, ach tha thu `alain”

The Gaelic tumbled from his lips, like honey from a carelessly knocked over jar and although Claire could not understand the language whatever she saw in his expression caused her to blush gently and pushed away the last gossamer threads of awkwardness between them. 

“Thank you.”

She murmured and Jamie wondered if she had understood after all, a faint ray of alarm mixed with hope that warmed his core and once again set the butterflies in his belly into motion. As she smoothed her hands across his shoulders he realised that she was thanking him for removing his shirt but with her fingertips on his bare skin, he no longer had thought to spare it.

*Hail Mary full of grace …*

Jamie squeezed his eyes shut and was grateful for the dull pain that radiated from his shoulder when Claire pressed her thumb against it.

“I’m sorry, did that hurt?”

“No… yes … but it was … fine.”

Jamie’s legs were trembling lightly and he felt beads of sweat, like the morning dew, appear on his chest and beneath his armpits. His balls ached almost worse than his shoulder and as Claire bent to examine the purple bruising around his collar bone, a soft curl of her hair brushed his ear lightly and Jamie gave himself over to God entirely, for he could no longer trust himself not to turn and press his lips to hers and allow his hands to run down the gentle swell of her hips.

He was so focussed on reciting the rosary in his head that he had not realised Claire had released her hold on him and was stood back watching his lips silently form the words. Colour flooded his face and he hastily cleared his throat and stood up.

“Will I live?”

He asked, carefully putting his shirt back on, offering Claire a lopsided grin

“As long as I don’t hear of you getting into any more scrapes or doing anything else to inflame that shoulder, I see no reason why you won’t live to a very old age.”

She returned his smile and stepped forward to straighten his cravat and Jamie allowed his finger to brush against soft skin of her wrist.

Recognition sparked in her eyes and for a tantalising moment Jamie knew that she wanted to kiss him almost as badly as he wanted to kiss her, he could feel it in the air between them the same as a filly sniffy a coming storm on the breeze.

But neither of them moved forward and the moment passed as Claire stepped back from him.

“I should bid you good night Mr McTavish.”

She smiled again and Jamie bowed deeply to her.

“Good night Mistress Beauchamp. Claire.”

He allowed his eyes to rest on her face once more and then turned away, forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other as he left her. As he stepped into the corridor, he turned and poked his head back into the room.

“Ye’ll lock the door after I go, aye?”

“I will.”

She promised and Jamie nodded to himself feeling pleased that she would listen to him and more pleased with memory of the look in her eye as she had touched him. Perhaps his hopes were not entirely fruitless after all! He wished that Murtagh or someone had been there to see the look and maybe help him grasp its full meaning but at the same time he was elated to have experienced such a moment just between himself and Claire ... Jamie shook his head and grinned at the floor ruefully, hearing his father’s voice in his head:

*Love will make a fool of ye, yet!*


End file.
